


Faith Misplaced

by Nuanta



Series: Faith Misplaced [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bottom Hubert von Vestra, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Premature Ejaculation, Sex Magic, Top Ferdinand von Aegir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24861466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: They ultimately attribute it to a combination of nerves and overexcitement, despite Hubert’s utter mortification once he comes down from the post-coital high. Frankly, it’s immensely endearing.But then it keeps happening.That time Ferdinand discovers Faith magic has its uses in the bedroom.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Series: Faith Misplaced [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840249
Comments: 49
Kudos: 253





	Faith Misplaced

**Author's Note:**

> This fic brought to you by this thought that wouldn't leave me: Hubert has a tome of Reason-based fuckspells, but what about Faith? What about magical rejuvenation?
> 
> And so this happened. I regret nothing. Happy Bottombert Monday!

The first time it happens, it takes them both by surprise.

They’re making out languidly on the divan in Ferdinand’s chambers. Hubert is snugly seated on his lap, their chests flush together despite the layers of clothing that separate them still. Hubert’s hips are making these minute twitches that are just enough for Ferdinand to feel the hard outline of Hubert’s cock brush against his own through their trousers, enough for a flash of heat to curl low in his belly at the friction.

It’s _good_ —all of it, from the sharp, bitter coffee stains Ferdinand licks off Hubert’s teeth to the slow roll of their bodies as they rock together, hands roaming through hair and clutching at jaws and weaseling under collars to claim every inch of heated skin possible.

They haven’t undressed for each other yet, but the inevitability of it bears down on them, the hunger gnawing at Ferdinand’s very core, and he knows Hubert feels it too. A month into this courtship, and the bonds of propriety loosen with each passing tea date in the gardens, each instance of lips softly touching knuckles, each evening spent like this one, drinking each other in, a delicate tasting menu of noses, mouths, tongues, necks. All this, they have shared in excess, and while Ferdinand prays this particular river never dries, it nevertheless leaves so much more to be desired. To know Hubert even more intimately than this, more than anyone else ever has.

Ferdinand growls in spite of himself and clutches tightly at Hubert’s hips, just at the edge of his waistband. He slips his fingers beneath the fabric, digging into the soft flesh of Hubert’s back, tugging him closer, and he is rewarded with the sudden bucking of Hubert’s hips, the breathy little gasp directly into Ferdinand’s mouth. Emboldened, Ferdinand scrapes his teeth over Hubert’s lower lip, then bites, hard, and Hubert clenches his fists in Ferdinand’s hair, releases a muffled whine as his hips pick up speed, grinding in small circles directly against Ferdinand’s crotch. Ferdinand groans, liquid fire coursing through his veins from his groin to his extremities. He kisses with bruising force, crushing their mouths together, urging Hubert to move against him, dizzy with the muted noises Hubert is making, the tiny hitches of breath that pick up in frequency, matching the quickening pulse thudding in Ferdinand’s ears, sharp and fast until—

Hubert seizes, breaking off from the kiss to bury his face in the juncture of Ferdinand’s neck and shoulder, his hands scrabbling for purchase as he shudders violently in Ferdinand’s arms. A few moments later, they subside until only a gentle trembling remains.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, the cold wash of concern rapidly neutralizing the flares of heat, “are you all right? Did I frighten you? Oh, goddess, I—”

But Hubert shakes his head, breathing harsh and hot against Ferdinand’s neck.

Ferdinand holds him as gingerly as he can, raising a hand to brush the hair out of Hubert’s face, and startles to find it matted with sweat. Hubert’s motions have stilled now, but he curls into Ferdinand’s chest as if to burrow there. Ferdinand wraps his arms around him securely, shielding him from whatever caused this sudden shift in behavior, until he adjusts his legs and Hubert tenses and hisses forcefully.

It is only then that Ferdinand notices the dampness against the front of his trousers, and an electric thrill swoops through his stomach as the puzzle pieces slot together in his mind.

“Hubert,” he exclaims, practically breathless in his delight, “did you just come?”

So that’s the first time. They ultimately attribute it to a combination of nerves and overexcitement, despite Hubert’s utter mortification once he comes down from the post-coital high. Frankly, it’s immensely endearing.

But then it keeps happening.

When their bodies finally meet without barriers, just sweat-slick skin pressing together—Hubert comes. When Hubert grants Ferdinand permission to put his mouth on him, Ferdinand only has to lick once up the underside of the shaft and—Hubert comes. When Ferdinand has him on his back in bed, when he’s hovering so carefully over him while they kiss until Hubert’s whining into his mouth and Ferdinand pushes a thigh against Hubert’s crotch—Hubert comes.

It is no longer a surprise to either of them.

Ferdinand has been instructed in enough mathematics to recognize that this is no coincidence. Nor can it be nerves, not when Hubert writhes against him, so desperately wanting. And it is certainly heady to know he can affect his generally impervious lover so strongly.

He has to ask anyways: “Might you perhaps try to practice on your own?”

Hubert bolts upright from where he’d lain on the sheets, disheveled with sweat and come, instant irritation in his scowl. “I am not some blushing virgin who is afraid to seek their own pleasure in private,” he snaps. “I assure you I have ample experience on that front.”

Ferdinand hurries to pacify him. “I simply mean, if you were to imagine it were me—”

“If five years of that method hasn’t done it by now—”

“Five years?!” squawks Ferdinand.

Hubert facepalms, groaning loudly. “You are infuriating,” he grumbles. “Infuriatingly attractive every step of the way.”

Ferdinand processes that for a moment, little flutters of happiness bubbling and bursting in his chest, filling him with the knowledge that even through their years of supposed animosity, Hubert’s attention had still been fixed on him. He had always been _seen_.

“I do not intend to be a bother,” he says, earnest enough for past and present alike. “However, I would rather enjoy the opportunity to fuck you to completion one day, and this is making things slightly difficult at present.”

Hubert’s hand drops.

“Did—was that out of turn?” Ferdinand’s hand flies to his own mouth. “I am dreadfully sorry, that was wholly untoward of me—”

“No, no.” There’s a pink tinge to Hubert’s pale cheeks that’s not from the aftermath of their activities. “I would—that would be acceptable.”

Ferdinand’s grin threatens to stretch to his ears. He leans in and brushes Hubert’s bangs back, permitting himself the rare indulgence of seeing both eyes at once. Hubert resolutely stares at the rustled sheets beneath them.

“Only acceptable?” he hums. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Hubert sighs, sounding defeated, and meets Ferdinand’s gaze. “I am not proud of this…behavior,” he manages. Ferdinand kisses his brow lightly, knowing that was not easy for him to admit, and trails to the tip of his nose. “I will try to figure something out.”

Ferdinand moves to murmur against Hubert’s lips. “ _We_ will figure something out,” he corrects. “And rest assured this changes nothing of how I feel about you.”

Hubert smiles against his mouth. “You always did like a challenge.”

~o~

In the end, an elegant solution presents itself in quite an unexpected fashion. Ferdinand is running errands for Professor Manuela, transporting supplies from her room to the infirmary—she’d been swamped with patients after their latest battle, and Ferdinand had leapt at the opportunity to make himself useful—when the scrawl in the margin of an open textbook catches his eye.

He does not mean to pry, really, he doesn’t. It is a vice totally unbecoming and ignoble of him, and yet the question inked across the page is one his brain has unfortunately latched onto as of late. It also doesn’t help that the book on the desk is right next to the box of bandages Professor Manuela had requested he retrieve.

At first, he blinks and shakes his head, certain he’s imagining things, and baffled that his private thoughts of Hubert would bleed into his honorable work. But no, the one-word question remains, clear as day.

_Sex?_

There’s an arrow pointing to it. Ferdinand follows the tail end to an underlined sentence and, curiosity besting better judgment, somewhat guiltily allows himself a brief moment to read before returning to the infirmary.

_Indeed, a Restore spell’s proficiency lies in rejuvenation, literally restoring vitality and stamina alike._

He has learned that much quite well already. Ferdinand had taken extra time to study under Professor Manuela’s careful eye, to learn the rudimentaries of Faith-based magic, ostensibly to maintain his reputation as a well-rounded study, but with the ulterior motive of having the ability to personally look after Hubert after an arduous battle. The man did not have a history of looking after himself, and Ferdinand could not let that slide.

Ferdinand is quite capable with a Restore spell these days, and nothing in this text is new. Except…

He peers closer and notices that, though the entire sentence is underlined, the word _stamina_ has been circled harshly for emphasis. Looks back and forth between _stamina_ and _Sex?_.

Ferdinand’s cheeks grow hot as the implications of Professor Manuela’s note sinks in. While it is certainly not news that she has not put a pause on her search for a worthwhile lover during the war—and make no mistake, the eventual man must be worthy of her operatic grace and beauty—Ferdinand had placed a firm mental block on ever contemplating Professor Manuela’s proclivities. Now, with evidence of her possible Faith-abusing methodologies…

Well. Who was to make accusations of abuse of power, if the Church was the very power they were fighting? And that could undoubtedly provide some more excitement in the bedroom, especially to counter the fear of finishing too soon…

“ _OH!_ ”

~o~

“Well? What do you think?”

Ferdinand watches Hubert expectantly, chest puffed out with pride that his epiphany has brought them a veritable resolution. All he needs is for Hubert to give his assent.

What Hubert does is stare from across the parlor table in Ferdinand’s rooms, eyes widened and mouth parted slightly, varying shades of pink creeping across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His evening cup of coffee tips precariously from his loose fingers.

Trepidation sinks into Ferdinand’s gut like iron to the bottom of the sea. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Hubert further, and now he has failed miserably. They’ve definitely experienced their share of awkward moments in learning each other throughout this courtship, but directly being the cause? That is something he cannot bear.

“You said you got this idea from Professor Manuela?” rasps Hubert.

Ferdinand flushes. “Well, not precisely,” he stammers. “I might have accidentally come across an annotated textbook in her office the other day, and I, erm, took inspiration from it, you see.”

Hubert blinks. Then his expression relaxes into a sly grin, and something cautiously hopeful releases Ferdinand’s lungs from their constricts. “Ferdinand von Aegir, snooping through others’ affairs. I never thought I’d see the day.” It almost sounds like approval.

Feeling daring, Ferdinand counters, “Must be your influence.” When Hubert chuckles, an uninhibited little thing, it’s as if Ferdinand is suddenly weightless, and he knows they’re okay.

Hubert’s cup clinks gently back onto its plate. “Well, it’s as you said: there is no harm in trying. There is little chance of adverse reaction. Either it works, or it doesn’t. And if it does work…” Something flickers behind those pale green eyes, something hungry.

Ferdinand rises from his seat and marches straight over to Hubert. Hubert twists in his chair to meet him. Ferdinand settles his hands over Hubert’s shoulders, bending over him until their foreheads touch. Anticipation thrums through every nerve, filled with gorgeous promise. Ever since that day in Professor Manuela’s office, his mind has been swimming frantically through an ocean of ideas, plans that, if the magic functions true, could grant them an unforgettable time together.

He wants all of it so fiercely, he knows not where to start.

Hubert lifts his chin, an open invitation, and this is as good a place as any. Ferdinand kisses him, just a light brush of their lips, then pulls away to look at Hubert. His eyes have gone half-lidded already, and that alone is enough to set Ferdinand’s senses alight. He dives back in, this time for a deeper kiss, and Hubert opens for him easily. Ferdinand licks the acrid taste of coffee from Hubert’s lips and teeth and tongue, drinking in all that Hubert gives.

They’re quiet, at first, as Hubert tends to be more reserved with speech and sound in the bedroom even as his body arches closer without restraint. But Ferdinand has had ample opportunity to study Hubert’s reactions. He grips Hubert’s arms tightly and coaxes him to his feet, unrelenting with his kisses as he pulls their bodies flush together. When Hubert’s breathing inevitably quickens, Ferdinand slides his hand down to cup the bulge in Hubert’s trousers.

Hubert breaks off with a gasp, clutching at Ferdinand’s lapels, clearly unwilling to give up all contact. “Ferd—”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ferdinand murmurs, nipping at Hubert’s lower lip before drawing him back in. He hooks a leg around Hubert’s to keep him in place, and Hubert shudders involuntarily when Ferdinand rubs the heel of his palm against Hubert’s length.

Hubert chases the friction, grinding back against him. Ferdinand wraps a hand around the outline of his cock, the layer of clothing still between them, and there might as well be sparks flying between them with how electrifying that touch is. Ferdinand moves his other hand to fist in the back of Hubert’s hair and devours the eliciting moan. Hubert is so pliant against him, so perfect, so accommodating as Ferdinand swipes his thumb across the head—

Hubert keens high and loud as his body spasms; Ferdinand tugs him close, refusing to give up even an inch as Hubert shakes apart. He wants every tremble against him, every frantic bite, every grasping finger imprinting upon his chest.

Still, he wants more.

Only when the aftershocks subside does Ferdinand finally pull away, a string of saliva breaking between them. With both arms, he embraces his lover, gently caressing up and down his back.

Hubert’s eyes are closed, but they flutter open moments later, glassy from his usual post-climactic daze. Ferdinand beams and kisses his nose, hopelessly charmed.

“That was exquisite, my dear.”

Hubert wrinkles his nose, though he has yet to let go of him. “You’ve soiled my pants again.”

Ferdinand laughs, full of gleeful pride. “I have.”

“It’s almost as if you enjoy making a mess of me.”

Ferdinand graces him with the most covetous look he can muster, and observes how the blush sweeps across Hubert’s cheeks in response.

Buoyed by this assurance, Ferdinand states, “I also enjoy giving you extra incentive to take them off.”

“That is entirely unnecessary and you know it.”

Tired of waiting, Ferdinand sets to work on unbuttoning Hubert’s shirt. Eventually, instead of helping, Hubert’s fingers move to Ferdinand’s belt. They undress each other, unhurried. They’ve bared themselves to each other enough times now that the novelty of tearing through fabric has worn off, replaced instead with the tender intimacy of the slow reveal. And when the last articles of clothing have finally drifted to the floor and they stand fully naked before each other, it’s all Ferdinand can do to remember the plan.

He reaches for Hubert’s flagging cock, sticky with come, but pulls back when Hubert flinches, oversensitive. Ferdinand gentles him with a hum and touches two fingers to the shaft. He closes his eyes, embraces the stores of Faith within him, calls them to the surface, and casts Restore.

Light blooms from the tips of his fingers, bright but not blinding. When it fades, Ferdinand takes a step back.

“How did that feel?” he asks cautiously.

Hubert considers, frowning the way he always does when he’s assessing. “The prickling is gone,” he says.

Ferdinand resolutely does not clasp his hands together in excitement and crowds back into Hubert’s space instead. “So if I were to touch you again…”

He does just that, and if Hubert’s ensuing gasp isn’t enough, the way his dick throbs under Ferdinand’s hand tells him all he needs to know.

Ferdinand’s head spins. It worked. The spell worked. The vast world of possibilities now open to them is overwhelming. And above all else, Ferdinand wants—

“Darling,” Ferdinand breathes, “get on the bed.”

Hubert practically scrambles to comply, and oh, if that isn’t a sight that sends a rush of arousal juddering through Ferdinand. But he doesn’t touch himself yet—it’s still too soon. There’s so much else he wants to do with Hubert first.

He follows Hubert to the bed, where Hubert is sitting cross-legged, staring back with such raw lust that Ferdinand has to pause and take a deep breath to steady himself. Then Ferdinand crawls atop Hubert, urging him onto his back. Ferdinand bends over him, his hair falling into a curtain around them, and cups Hubert’s face in his hands as he seeks his mouth once more.

Hubert kisses back eagerly, soft sighs slipping from his lips for Ferdinand to claim. His hands roam, spanning the broad expanse of Ferdinand’s back and shoulders, never settling. Ferdinand sets a slow, torturous pace, knowing full well it’s only a matter of time before Hubert’s arms will beg for his weight, before Hubert’s hips twitch and buck into nothing.

He is rewarded for his ministrations with a muffled whimper, with thumbs bruising upon his shoulder blades. Hubert’s head twists to the side, but Ferdinand does not let him. He roots him in place, nips playfully at Hubert’s lower lip, then charts a path of kisses from the corner of his mouth down to the underside of his jaw before scraping his teeth across the sensitive spot there.

Hubert groans, an airy, needy little thing, and Ferdinand can deny him nothing.

“What is it, dearest?” Ferdinand purrs. “Would you like my mouth elsewhere?”

He receives a fervent nod in response, feels Hubert’s throat work as he swallows. Ferdinand glances upwards, notes that Hubert’s eyes are clenched shut, and smiles against his skin.

“Very well, then.”

Ferdinand braces his hands on the mattress on either side of Hubert’s shoulders and slides down his body until he is level with Hubert’s chest, still careful to ensure their bodies do not touch. He flicks his tongue once across each nipple, just a suggestion for now, before trailing lower, kissing down Hubert’s sternum, relishing every jolt he lures from the depths of Hubert’s restraint, every jerk of fingers now tangling in his hair.

He pauses at the first brush of his nose against the short, dark curls decorating Hubert’s groin. His cock stands proud, precome beading at the tip as it begs for attention. “Shall we if you last longer this time?” Ferdinand asks.

And without waiting for a response, he takes the head of Hubert’s cock into his mouth.

The salted taste of Hubert’s desire sends Ferdinand’s gut swooping. Hubert’s fingers tighten in his hair, and he makes a noise as if he’s been punched. Ferdinand takes him in deeper, hollows his cheeks and hums, and Hubert releases a bellowing moan before his entire body convulses and he’s spilling against the back of Ferdinand’s throat.

Ah. That would be a no, then.

Ferdinand swallows as much as he can, then laps at the excess trickling down Hubert’s shaft until Hubert clutches at the sheets and cants his hips away. Ferdinand sits back on his heels, watching and waiting for Hubert’s ragged breathing to subside, for Hubert’s eyes to open once more.

Hubert blinks blearily at him. “That,” he says hoarsely, “did not seem much different from usual.”

“But you came twice within a short period of time,” Ferdinand reasons. “As opposed to you typically requiring a night’s rest to recharge.”

Hubert props himself onto his elbows with trembling limbs. “That much is true,” he concedes.

This time, Ferdinand claps his hands together in triumph. “Excellent,” he proclaims. “I think we are on to something, then. Hold still for me.” Ferdinand knows the basics of the scientific method just as well as Hubert does. An experiment’s results cannot hold true without replication. So, he taps his fingers against Hubert’s softening cock once more and casts Restore.

Again, aside from the expected light from the magic pooling through Ferdinand’s fingers and into Hubert’s dick, there is no visible tell. There is, after all, no wound to heal. It strikes him as rather like the effects of a vulnerary on a headache. Ferdinand cocks his head in question. “Anything unusual?”

“Same as last time,” Hubert confirms.

This bodes so well.

Ferdinand chooses his words meticulously, not wanting to trip over them in his excitement, in this breakthrough that has gotten them this much closer to what they’ve both been craving.

“Will you allow me to fuck you tonight?”

Face the deepest red Ferdinand has ever seen from him, Hubert nods, and Ferdinand’s heart feels full to bursting with how very fond he is. He gazes into Hubert’s eyes, hoping the sheer adoration shines through on his face, and then reaches over to the nightstand for the bottle of oil he’d strategically placed before their evening dinner date.

It’s only as he’s uncorking the bottle that Ferdinand thinks to ask, “Have you ever done this before?”

“Ah. …no.”

Ferdinand fumbles the bottle and catches it just in time to prevent a dump of oil over the sheets. “Oh! Well, oil is used to facilitate—”

“I _know_ how this works,” Hubert snaps.

“But you have not _experienced_ it, have you?”

“ _I know how this works_ ,” Hubert repeats through gritted teeth.

Ferdinand recorks the bottle and places it on the bed so that he can crawl between Hubert’s legs to kiss the frown off his lover’s face. It’s not long until Hubert’s melting beneath him, fueling the flames of pride and want alike in Ferdinand’s veins.

While they kiss, Ferdinand gropes blindly for the oil and manages to pour an overly generous amount over his fingers. Then he traces his index finger down Hubert’s perineum, stilling his movements right at the rim.

Hubert gasps hot and wet into Ferdinand’s mouth, his hands scratching against Ferdinand’s back and sides. Ferdinand smiles against him, leisurely drawing circles around Hubert’s hole, and Hubert gnaws at Ferdinand’s lower lip.

Ferdinand tuts and straightens back until he’s sitting between Hubert’s legs. Hubert claws at the sheets as he shivers, breathing hard.

“Relax for me, darling,” Ferdinand says softly.

“Just get on with it,” Hubert retorts.

There is nothing Ferdinand would like more at this present moment, but he wants to make sure this is good for Hubert. So he follows through on his earlier actions and reaches over to pinch Hubert’s left nipple. And then, while Hubert arcs into that touch, Ferdinand slides a finger inside.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert warns, his body going rigid.

Ferdinand continues to play with the nipple, coaxing the nub to a hardened peak. Hubert’s breath sighs out of him at that, and he loosens enough for Ferdinand to probe deeper, until he is down to the knuckle.

“That’s more like it,” Ferdinand murmurs approvingly. He begins thrusting slowly, drawing his finger almost all the way out before sinking it back in, all the while rubbing Hubert’s nipple between two fingers. Once he’s established a steady rhythm, he switches to the unattended nipple and inserts a second finger at the same time.

Hubert lets out a low, guttural sound. He wriggles as if to force Ferdinand to take him deeper, and oh. Hubert’s cock is at a stand again, red and leaking. Ferdinand exhales shakily, desire burning bright in his own gut, aching from his own neglect, but he cannot relieve himself now, not if he wants to be inside proper. He will endure this. He will guide Hubert to heightened pleasure for them both.

He scissors his fingers carefully, opening Hubert up a little at a time, while Hubert pants and writhes beneath him. He is a picture of perfect debauchery like this, flushed to the tips of his ears, down to his neck, a stark contrast to his pale, clammy skin, but still Ferdinand wants more.

He explores further, locates the spot he was searching for, and crooks his fingers just so.

Hubert positively mewls, back arching clear off the bed, and something in Ferdinand’s belly coils up tight.

He is beautiful.

Ferdinand resumes the motion, and Hubert makes a noise as if he’s been strangled.

Hubert wheezes, “I’m—” but formulating coherent sentences should be beyond him by now, Ferdinand decides, and so he pursues that stimulating spot again and again, no longer bothering with his other hand, and Hubert cries out as he comes.

It falls in spurts over his abdomen, mixing with the dried, sticky mess already painting his body. Ferdinand figures they can simply clean up the entire thing later. For now, it is a captivating sight to behold, and Ferdinand is content to simply watch the rise and fall of Hubert’s chest as he descends from his high.

It takes an extended period of time for Hubert’s body to finally relax again. Eventually, his limbs sag into the bed, but his eyes remain closed and his lips parted, and Ferdinand is beset with another idea, a vision he can’t shake. With the hand not still inside Hubert, he swipes up some of the spend on Hubert’s belly with his thumb and drags it over Hubert’s open mouth.

“Suck,” he commands.

A beat, and then Hubert’s lips close around him. Ferdinand’s dick throbs with another flare of arousal, of violent need. Still Hubert has not opened his eyes.

“May I continue?” he asks.

Hubert whispers, “Please.”

Ferdinand withdraws from the wet heat of Hubert’s mouth, appeased by the knowledge that his other hand is undergoing a similar experience, emboldened by Hubert’s wonderful plea, and uses his free hand to cast Restore for the third time.

Then, while Hubert is still malleable, he inserts a third finger.

That is enough to trigger a yelp from Hubert, and Ferdinand closes his eyes to focus on the array of notes, high and low alike, he can conduct from Hubert’s hidden range. But, he has come once from Ferdinand’s fingers already, and so it is not long before Ferdinand deems him ready.

He withdraws slowly, and Hubert actually whines at the loss.

“Not to worry,” Ferdinand says placatingly as he reaches for the bottle of oil once more. It is only now, as he’s adding to the precome already slicking his own dick, that the extent of his arousal and denial hits him in full force, enough to knock the wind out of him in just a few strokes. Each one is madness, as he pulses under his own hand. He could climax just like this, from touching himself while Hubert watches hungrily with half-lidded eyes, mouth agape, arms jittering with effort to prop himself up on his elbows. Touching himself while watching Hubert right back, watching his cock perk in interest once more, from the simple act of observing.

Oh, Goddess.

As delightful as it is to witness Hubert come undone prematurely, Ferdinand does not wish to follow suit. He releases himself with a sigh, inhales and exhales on a mental count as he moves to position himself before Hubert’s entrance. Takes hold of Hubert’s calves, trembling as they are, and hooks them over his shoulders.

“Is this all right?” he asks. “I would prefer to see you, during.”

Hubert stares, as if he cannot believe this is happening, swallows thickly, and nods.

Ferdinand grins broadly at him and nudges forward until the tip of his dick is brushing against Hubert’s hole. “This will be a bit of a stretch,” he warns. Hubert looks like he wants to make a sarcastic retort, but he bites his lip instead. Ferdinand stifles a giggle. He is well aware that he has been gifted in matters of size, and it is quite flattering to see the tiny dribble of drool budding in the corner of Hubert’s mouth. He adds, “Please tell me if I should stop.”

Slowly, so slowly, Ferdinand pushes in.

It is an instant flood of _heat, wet, tight_ directly to his senses, from where Hubert surrounds the head of his cock sparking all the way through the rest of his body. Fever overtakes him, a fever that can only be broken through the relief of harder, deeper—

Hubert’s arms give out from under him and he hisses sharply, as if in pain, and Ferdinand freezes.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks in horror.

Hubert’s eyes are squeezed shut, his head thrown back, sweaty bangs askew. But he nods once, then shakes his head vigorously.

Is he losing his head so much that he cannot tell if it’s pleasure or pain? Ferdinand is unsure of what to make of that, or of Hubert’s verbal silence, even as he notes that Hubert’s cock is hard as ever. Meanwhile, Ferdinand is burning up with the urge to move before he combusts completely, so he compromises, shifts by the smallest of fractions, and watches Hubert’s cock jump.

 _Oh_ , he thinks dimly.

The pressure threatens to overtake him, to unravel everything that’s coiled taut within him, but Ferdinand understands now, and so he continues. Each inch he claims is ecstasy, it’s relief, it’s torture. His mind wars between chants of _more_ and _careful_ as he sinks deeper, spurred by the press of Hubert’s heels into his back, urgent and shaking and demanding.

Ferdinand’s head swims. Hubert’s hands are fisted in the sheets again, his skin shining with sweat, his stomach soiled with come, and he is producing the most astounding series of garbled noises. None are identifiable, coherent words, though Ferdinand thinks he might hear a syllable of his name, but all of them are breathy, wanting, _needing_.

He buries himself to the hilt in one smooth motion, prying a broken wail from Hubert’s lips, and the moment he’s fully seated inside is the moment Hubert comes for the fourth time.

There’s very little of it this time, and as it trickles down Hubert’s length and Hubert’s body spasms through the aftershocks, Ferdinand registers that technically he’s accomplished his mission—but it’s not enough. Hubert wanted to be fucked, and Ferdinand wanted to fuck him. They can do so much better than this.

Without waiting for Hubert’s climax to wear off, Ferdinand casts Restore.

And then he begins to thrust.

Hubert screams—there is no other word for it—and throws his head back as his heels dig into Ferdinand’s back, urging him along. He is clenching and unclenching around Ferdinand, and Ferdinand can hardly breathe. He tries to maintain a steady rhythm, he does, but he’s suffocating in the dizzying heat, each slide more electrifying than the last, and Hubert is vocal now, making the most gorgeous, desperate sounds, and he falters, stumbling through the pleasure pulsating through every nerve, his thrusts turning shallow and erratic.

Words tumble out of their own volition, and he cannot help but babble: “Oh, Hubert. Oh, darling. If you could see the way you look right now. You are so, so good for me like this. I never knew. We should use this spell all the time. Maybe we can even use it to prevent you from finishing too early. That would be—”

He breaks off with a groan, a wave of unbearable pleasure coursing through him. The seams are splitting all around him now, and he can barely keep it together. Combined with the heightened sensation of Hubert squeezing tight around him and near curving off the bed when Ferdinand hits that spot again, and again, it is too much.

“Hubert,” he gasps, “I can’t—”

Hubert _howls_ , and his entire body seizes when Ferdinand pushes against that spot. He does not spill, wrung dry by Ferdinand’s antics, but oh, Ferdinand feels that pulsating pressure against his own cock, it drags him further, and he thrusts as hard and deep and fast as he can, his body pleading as the promise of release crests through him, so close, until he’s right on the edge of—

Ferdinand’s climax rolls through him like the most powerful tide, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and spots dance across his vision. He bowls over as he empties himself inside of Hubert, sweaty hands losing their grip on Hubert’s legs as he collapses overtop his lover. Time stands still as his world is filled with white noise.

Awareness returns slowly. Ferdinand’s cheek is smushed against Hubert’s chest, his body hunched in an awkward position. He gingerly holds himself up on his hands and extricates himself from Hubert, untangling themselves from the chaotic sprawl of limbs. Stares at the ungodly mess across Hubert’s body, around his flaccid cock. At the spend pooling out of Hubert’s hole. All because of him.

He turns his attention to Hubert’s face. It’s turned sideways into the pillow, his hair sticking out at odd ends. That his eyes are closed is no surprise, but so is his mouth. And his breathing has reduced to something light and even.

“Hubert?” whispers Ferdinand.

No response.

He tries again, louder. An eyebrow twitches, but that’s the only answer he receives.

Ferdinand can’t help but smile. “You have more than earned your rest, my dear,” he says softly. He leans over to press a swift kiss to the corner of Hubert’s mouth, and as he pulls back, he could swear Hubert’s lips chase his. But he blinks, and Hubert is sound asleep.

The plan for after had been to draw up a bath, but Ferdinand supposed just a simple towel down would do for now. They could bathe together in the morning. They would need to, if they slept in these sullied sheets, especially since Ferdinand couldn’t hope to change them now.

A damp cloth and a good night’s sleep await. Ferdinand fetches what he needs and takes his time wiping down Hubert’s chest, over the ribs that jut out and expose the extent to which he stretches himself thin with his work. Maybe tomorrow he could procure them a lovely breakfast in bed.

Hubert stirs without waking as Ferdinand tidies up, even as Ferdinand manhandles him to reach certain areas. His expression is unguarded, at peace in a way Ferdinand never imagined possible. He wants to see him like this more often.

It strikes Ferdinand in that moment that there are still so many layers of their relationship to uncover, so many unknown depths to explore. He wants to embrace all of them, lavish affection on every new aspect to Hubert he uncovers. He still wants so much.

And there will be ample opportunity to discover it all.

**Author's Note:**

> So uh. If you read between the lines, there's an equally horny magical sequel in the works. 
> 
> Thanks as always to goop and unrivaled for being the absolute best, and for the absolute riot we had in the gdocs comments while I was putting this together. To immortalize goop's immaculate assessment of this fic: "god you can just FEEL that ferdinand is one of those people invigorated by sex who only ends up with MORE energy afterward, while Hubert is a smear of meat on the pavement"
> 
> Come scream at me on Twitter! [@nuanta_fic](https://twitter.com/nuanta_fic)


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